


your fire left scars on my soul

by Anonymous



Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Noise Sensitivity, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scratching, Self-Harm, This is me projecting onto my favorite character, This was a vent fic y’all, Touch Aversion, Toxic Relationships, because I can’t write sad endings I guess, but then I gave it a happy ending, dont worry though it ends happy, scratching skin until it bleeds, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 16:06:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15416604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Patton’s skin had been crawling all day; fire burning beneath his flesh and (fake fake fake fake) phantom touches crawling across his skin and the feeling of hot breath on his neck and whispers of”For me? Don’t you love me?” and-And he needed to get rid of it.He needed to stop. He just needed everything to stop for a while.





	your fire left scars on my soul

Patton’s skin had been crawling all day; fire burning beneath his flesh and (fake fake fake fake) phantom touches crawling across his skin and the feeling of hot breath on his neck and whispers of _“For me? Don’t you love me?” and-_

And he needed to _get rid of it._

He needed to stop. He just needed everything to stop for a while.

He needed to-

But he wouldn't. He couldn't, not yet. No matter how unbearable it was to wait. He had to be patient. 

He fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door to their shared houe, stepping inside and out of the evening rain.

A hug greeted him and almost caused him to drop his keys.

Nausea crawled up his throat and his breath hitched, the horrible feeling of _bad bad wrong stop touching me please please stop_ causing his eyes to water, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to painfully return the enthusiastic hug from Probably Roman. He breathed deeply. _He was fine. Everything was okay._ It _wasn't happening again._

He carefully plastered on a smile as Definitely Roman pulled back, trying to ignore the way he just wanted to cringe away from his friend’s touches.

“Good evening, Padre! How are you today?” Roman was so loud. Patton ignored the urge to walk away or cover his ears with his hands and curl up or something else probably stupid and childish (he was definitely overreacting, _again_ ), but Roman’s voice was grating at his already frayed edges.

“Patton? Are you alright, dearest?” Roman asked when he didn't respond, and Patton’s heart plummeted. He cheerfully nodded. He felt empty, but full of void instead of empty of something. He laughed at the absurdity of that; masking it as a simple laugh of jubilation instead.

“I'm doing great, Ro!” _Lie. God, even his own voice was freaking him out. Everything was so, so loud._ “What’s got you so excited? How was your day?” He asked as they walked inside, and he hated that, at that particular moment, he didn't really care.

Roman preened at the question, grinning broadly. “Well, I'm so glad you asked!” They finally made it into the living room where Virgil was sitting on their coffee table. Virgil glanced up from his phone as they entered, and then looked back down.

If Patton had been paying more attention, he would have noticed Virgil’s double-take; the way Virgil quietly observed his best friend.

“I aced the audition, of course!” Roman spun excitedly, grabbing Patton’s hands in elation. Patton wanted to cry, to scream. To gnaw his hands off, maybe. That would be better than the thousands of ants crawling in his hands where Roman’s skin touched his own. He swallowed thickly and kept the grin pasted on his face and giggled. 

“That's great, Ro!” Patton laughed. He pretended the tears in his eyes were from laughing. Was his own laugh always that obnoxious and _loud?_

“Hey, Roman. How bad did you do at the audition, or whatever? I'm sure it was awful.” Virgil spoke up from his spot on the table as he took his headphones off, and Patton stopped himself from sagging in relief when Roman’s attention instantly switched to Virgil, the former dropping Patton’s hands.

 _“I’ll have you know that I did amazing!”_ He screeched indignantly, and Patton shied away, wincing from his friend’s booming voice. He waved as he left, shooting a “I'll talk to you guys later!” down the hall as he went.

Roman didn’t notice, but Virgil’s eyes subtly followed him as he exited the room.

* * *

 Patton closed the door to his bedroom and he nearly collapsed in relief. His feet dragged as he gathered his pajamas and headed towards his bathroom. He knew that this was unhealthy. Of course he realized what he was about to do was bad. But he needed it all the same; catharsis was inevitable. He so desperately needed it.

He turned on the shower, making it almost too hot. He undressed himself and sat in the spray.

 He finally let tears fall down his face, the salty liquid mingling with the shower water. He curled in on himself, and held his head in his hands.

 

_Hot breath on his neck. A smile that held no love. A kiss that was too fast and too heated and too much. “You love me, don't you Pat? You'd do this for me if you loved me.”_

  _And he did. Oh, he did. Patton loved_ **him** _so much it hurt. But he wasn't ready for this. He didn't want to be. He never wanted this. Patton thought he had told_ **him** _that._

  _But_ **he** _looked so betrayed when Patton didn't answer. Like Patton had wronged_ **him** _. Like Patton owed_ **him** _something._

  _He loved_ **him** _, didn't he?_

  _He did._

  _Hands grasping at every available surface of his skin, kisses trailing down and down as clothes were hastily thrown to the floor and no, he didn't want this. No, he couldn't do this. He didn't want to._

 _“You love me, right?”_ **He** _had said._

 _“Yes,” Patton had answered._ Please, _he wanted to scream._ I can't do this, _he wanted to say. But he didn't. He didn't say anything, except for “Of course I love you.”_  

_And he did._

_He woke up the next morning sore and hurting and aching and shattered._

  _He hid his broken pieces behind a smile._

  _And the worst part is, it worked._

 

Patton’s skin felt like it was on fire, the awful crawling sensation returning full-force. His breath hitched, and he started scratching at his skin, gritting his teeth as he manically rubbed his skin raw. He tore at his own flesh, at not-yet healed, recent scabs. He just needed to get rid of the horrible feeling. It felt like a million tiny bugs were alive in his flesh and he couldn't take it anymore.

 Phantom touches from **_him_** danced on his arms and his legs and his face and he cried, because he just wanted it to _go away._ He just wanted to be _fine_ and _okay_ but he _wasn’t_ and it’d been _three months_ since they broke up but he _still_ wasn't okay.

 Logan and Roman and Virgil knew about their breakup. Of course they did.

_(He wished the shower would stop being so loud.)_

 They knew it got really bad near the end. Of course they did.

_(Loud anything was so scary. He wished the world could quiet down for just a minute, please.)_

But he couldn't tell them about _this_. He wouldn't. He wouldn't bear to reveal his shame to the world. He couldn't show them this ugliness.

 It was normal. It was even _healthy_ in a relationship. It wasn't something to be afraid of, right? It wasn't something that made people choke up at the first mention of. It wasn't something that made people cry in the shower while scratching their legs so hard and so long that they reopen their only recent scabs and bled, their seething, roiling blood flowing down into the drain with the rest of the water.

 So why did it make him do those things? What was _wrong_ with him?

 He felt tainted. He felt contaminated. He felt dirty, no matter how much he scrubbed at his skin. It felt like it was a part of him now; that he was forever marked by **_him_ ** _._

 

 _“God, you're broken, aren't you? You know nobody else is going to want you when I'm gone,”_ **he** _hissed, and Patton was crying._

  **He** _wasn't._ **He** _looked so cold and so angry and so very disgusted. Patton felt like nothing. Patton felt like he was nothing. He felt a void in his chest where his lungs should’ve been._

 _“I've been nothing but good to you. And you're throwing it all away!”_ **He** _yelled, and Patton hated how he flinched when_ **he** _raised his voice._

 _“Wait-” Patton tried, and he wanted to open his mouth to beg_ **him** _to take him back, to say that he didn't mean it, that of_ course **he** _was right, nobody would love Patton like_ **he** _would._

 _But_ **he** _left. And even though Patton had been the one to say he thought they should go their separate ways, he was the one that ended up on the floor, crying and heartbroken and so confused._

_They were back together within the week._

  _He didn't know if he was ecstatic and happy and grateful or if he wanted to scream and cry and slam his skull against a brick wall._

  _Perhaps it didn't matter either way. The end result would be the same._

 

Patton’s legs and his chest both stung and hurt, but it was _worth it_ , because it was so much better than the alternative. He ached all over, which wasn't new, but at least he ached for an entirely  different, physical reason. This was manageable. This was okay.  

He slowly stepped out of the shower and pulled on his change of underwear, numbly sitting on the cold tile instead of the rug so as not to unintentionally stain it from habit alone.

He shakily exhaled and swallowed thickly. He ran a hand through his hair, and he felt tears building up again.

Why couldn't he just be normal?

 Why couldn't he just forget that _it_ ever happened? Why couldn't he just move on? Why did his mind have to replay _it_ so often? Why did he do this to himself? Why couldn't he just _tell_ someone?

It wasn't fair. He wanted to cry like a child. He wanted to scream it to the world, but he also just wanted nobody to ask, nobody to notice how broken he was. He simultaneously, contradictorily wanted _someone_ , _anyone_ to _see_ and _hear_ how he felt and _why_ and _understand_ and tell him that how he felt was okay, that he wasn't wrong for feeling like this, but he also just wanted to disappear. To never exist. To be erased from the world and everyone’s minds.

He wanted.. 

God, he wanted someone to hold him without feeling like _it_ was going to happen again, like the world was ending just because someone was _hugging_ him. Just because someone wanted to give him affection and _show that they_ _loved him-_

 

_“I'm just showing you how much I love you, right? Don't you want that?”_

 

Patton’s breathing picked up once more. _Nononono-_

 

 _“I said,_ don't you want that?” **He** _was mad. That was never good. Nothing good ever came from that. Only lonely nights and the particularly poisonous thoughts that came when he was alone._

  _Balling his fists, Patton nodded._

  **He** _smiled._

  _“Good.”_

  _That was their fourth time, and Patton felt numb. The void grew from his lungs into his heart, both somehow emptying it and filling it all the same._

 

It wasn't enough. He gripped his hair in his hands and pulled, trying to distract himself and dispel the negativity swirling through his mind. He felt nauseous. If he could just focus on something else, _anything else-_

 Someone knocked on the bathroom door and he yelped, his heart skipping a beat in surprise and fear as he was ripped out of his (quickly spiraling) thoughts. 

“Pat? You’ve been in there a while,” Maybe Virgil said.

 

 _“Pat? You’ve been spacing out for a while,”_ **He** _murmured, mouth against Patton’s skin, and Patton had to stop himself from saying no, I'm not okay. No, please stop. No, I think you're destroying me._

 **He** _smirked. “What, is this not enough for you? I can do more,”_ **he** _purred._ **He** _bit Patton’s neck, and Patton whimpered. But it wasn't because he enjoyed it._

 

Patton needed to stop breathing so fast. He had to- he had to calm down. He needed to calm down, if he could just calm down he'd be fine but he _couldn't._

He vaguely registered the door opening slightly, and that just made him panic more because now they'd _see_ him and they'd _know_ that he was dirty and tainted and broken and he didn't want them to leave him because now they would, and he'd be _alone_ and **_he_ ** would be right, he was broken and nobody wanted something that was broken when they could have something whole and good and pure and-

 “Are you- you sound like you're hyperventilating. Are- _are you having a panic attack?”_ Definitely Virgil concernedly asked from behind the door.

Patton couldn't force his mouth to work, his throat closing up and the void in his lungs refusing to give him air as he tried to force oxygen into his body. He felt dizzy. Lightheaded.

 _Well, that’s what happens when you make yourself bleed in the shower and then refuse to breathe correctly like a normal human being,_ a mean little voice in the back of his mind said. _I honestly don’t know why you’re surprised._

A pitiful _(loud loud loud)_ noise tore its way from his throat, because he couldn't do anything else. At the lack of a proper response and Patton’s continued quick breathing, Virgil’s suspicions were confirmed.

Patton felt like he was dying.

Bracing himself, Virgil quickly opened the bathroom door. Virgil ran a hand through his hair as he sharply inhaled.

He was in a horrible state. Patton’s legs and chest were openly bleeding, scratches that had to be self inflicted reopened and the blood from said injuries starting to run down his legs and onto the floor. Patton’s skin was red from him scrubbing at it so harshly, and his breathing was quick and panicked as he trembled and tried (in vain, it seemed) to calm himself down.

Virgil reached over into the tub and turned the shower off, silence blanketing the bathroom along with the heavy, muggy heat from the steam.

“Pat, can I touch you?” Virgil asked, and Patton quickly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Virgil nodded.

“I need you to breathe with me, okay? Can you do that?” Virgil softly asked, and Patton wanted to cry from thankfulness because his voice was so blessedly quiet and it didn’t make him want to curl in on himself and shut down like most sounds usually did when he got like this.

“Patton, I need you to focus. In for four, hold for seven, breathe out for eight. Can you breathe with me, please?” Virgil murmured, breathing over-exaggerated breaths that would be easy to follow. “Everything is okay. You’re safe,” He said in-between breaths, his voice still low. “Nobody here is going to hurt you. Breathe.”

It took a while, but Virgil was patient. Patton’s breath slowly (so very slowly) evened out, following the calming pattern his best friend was demonstrating.

Inhale. One, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Exhale. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

“Good. You’re doing really well, Pat,” Virgil praised, noting how Patton was still trembling. Virgil waited another few moments to gather himself, and to ensure Patton was out of the panic attack. “Are you tired?” He asked, knowing that he was always exhausted after them himself, and Patton nodded. He was so tired now that panic and adrenaline were no longer coursing through his veins. Virgil thought for a moment, and then seemed to come to a decision. “I’m gonna go get some stuff to patch you up with, okay?”

Patton swallowed thickly, shaking his head and pointing to the cabinet under the sink. Virgil frowned, and then began rooting around in the cabinet. Finally looking behind the towels, he pulled a first aid kit from underneath a messy, unfolded mound of washcloths near the back.

 Virgil didn't want to think about the implications of him _needing_ a first aid kit on hand. So, instead, he quickly sat back down and opened it. He’d need to resupply some of the materials soon; Patton had seemingly burned through half of his disinfectant and gauze.

“...Is it okay if I touch you to help with your wounds?” Virgil asked just for confirmation, already expecting an answer but making sure just in case. 

Patton glanced at the kit, and then he ran a hand through his hair.

Silently shaking his head, Patton reached towards the first aid kit to take it and dress his wounds himself. Virgil was unsurprised and hesitant, but he acquiesced anyways. 

Patton’s hands were shaking, causing him to fumble with some of the materials, but he got through it relatively okay largely due to what looked like practice. He disinfected his wounds, narrowing his eyes when the disinfectant stung his scratches.

Meanwhile, Virgil fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence. He didn’t want to leave, but he also itched to get anyone more capable. He wasn’t good at picking _himself_ up after attacks, he didn’t want to consider how awful he’d be at helping someone else.

 “I.. I can go get Roman, or Logan. If you want,” Virgil offered, and Patton shook his head. Patton glanced up and offered Virgil a small, weak smile that only barely reached his eyes, but it was gone in seconds as his expression crumbled back into that of exhaustion. He got back to work.

He finished dressing his injuries and started putting on the pajamas that he brought with him into the bathroom, a dark, long-sleeved shirt with similarly colored pajama pants.

 Virgil had noticed Patton always wore them after showers on what looked like rough days. He had always thought it was because they were warm.

 He now realized he wore them because they would hide his injuries.

 Patton sighed, and put the remainder of his medical kit back in its place under the sink. He shot Virgil a glance, expression unreadable, and seemed to think for a moment.

 Patton grabbed his phone, trying in vain to dry his hands on his pajamas, and typed out a few sentences. He tiredly slid the phone across the bathroom tiles to Virgil, staring resolutely at the bathroom door as Virgil read it.

 

_Thanks for helping me_

_I just want to go to bed right now if that’s okay_

_I’m sorry you had to see that_

 

Virgil frowned. Typing out a response, he slid the phone back to Patton.

 

_Don’t apologize, I don’t mind at all. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I want to help you. When you’re feeling better, would you maybe want to tell me what that was about? Remember, you totally don’t have to._

 

Patton looked utterly surprised to see Virgil using the phone to respond, but incredibly thankful as well. He read the message and he stared at the phone for a long minute. Virgil patiently waited in the silence once more, leaning against the wall as the seconds ticked by.

It was silent.

Suddenly Patton sobbed, fingers beginning to fly across the screen.

The phone slid across the floor.

 

_I think I’d like to but it’s so stupid and I’m afraid that if I do you’ll leave me too or make me move out or stop being my friend which is dumb but I’m so afraid all the time and I hate it so much I’m so tired of being afraid and of feeling like this I just want it to stop I just_

_I just want to be okay_

 

Virgil scoffed as he read the first section of the text but his expression saddened, and he typed out his reply. He stared Patton directly in the eyes as he slid the phone back to his best friend.

 

_Anything that does this to you can’t possibly be stupid, Pat. You’ve told me that exact same thing before. And you could never do or feel anything that would make me or the others want to leave you. We’re with you 100%. If you’re going to tell me what caused this, do you want to tell Logan and Roman too?_

 

Swallowing thickly, he glanced up only high enough to reach Virgil’s collarbone and hesitantly nodded.

 

_Yeah okay_

_Does it have to be today_

_I’m just really tired_

_Sorry_

 

_Of course it doesn’t have to be today, don’t apologize. I know you’re tired. You can tell us when or if you feel like it, Pat._

 

Patton wiped at his eyes, hands shaking from a whirlwind of emotions.

Virgil smiled softly and stood up, gesturing towards the door as if to say, _‘Let’s get out of this bathroom.’_

Patton shakily stood up from his spot on the floor, weakly smiling when Virgil opened the door for him. They both headed out of the bathroom and Patton quietly slid into the messy covers on his modestly sized bed, hugging one of his pillows.

 Virgil watched him get comfortable and headed for the door to the living room, turning off the lights.

 Virgil smiled and shut the door, the soft _click_ of the door echoing through the room and thankfully not disturbing his best friend.

 

 _In the morning, after_ **his** _and Patton’s fifth time, Patton went to Logan and Roman and Virgil and he told them. Not everything, of course, but enough._

_It was enough._

_(It didn’t feel like enough. He should have told them everything. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have felt so alone later.)_

_Logan had to stop Roman and Virgil from killing_ **him** , _but he looked just about as ready to do it himself._

 _“So, what? You were so weak that you couldn't even break up with me yourself?”_ **He** _gestured at Patton’s friends, and Patton looked away in shame. Roman and Virgil looked ready to tear_ **him** _apart, but Logan waved them off, giving them a warning look. Logan stepped forward._

 _“Asking for help for a difficult task does not make Patton weak.” Logan scowled. “If anyone here is weak, it is_ you _for so callously treating Patton like something to be owned instead of someone to be cherished.”_

_Virgil glanced at Patton, noting how frazzled he looked. Virgil put a hand on his shoulder, frowning in concern when Patton shied away from the touch. “Do you want to… Go get your stuff? Roman and I can help you if you want,” He asked, and Roman nodded in agreement, smiling kindly._

_Patton smiled warily in response, and hummed in agreement._

_“This is_ my _house, you can’t just come in and do whatever you please-!”_

  _Logan loomed over_ **him** _, glaring at_ **him** _in disgust as if_ **he** _was the dirt under his shoes. “I don’t think you’re exactly in the position to make demands. I feel that it is within your best interests to shut your mouth and leave us alone,” he growled._

  _Patton flinched when Roman nudged him, gesturing for them to head upstairs._

  _They gathered the few things that Patton didn’t share with_ **him** _and some of the things that he did, putting them in boxes or bags and they left without much fuss. Patton found himself looking back towards the house that held so many polarizing memories, before Virgil’s soft call of “C’mon, Pat,” dragged him out of his thoughts and back with the people with whom he belonged._

_On the car ride to his friends’ shared house, Patton started crying, a multitude of conflicting emotions swirling within his chest. Regret, relief, joy, sadness, anger, exhaustion, and so many more battled within him._

  _Virgil, who had sat in the backseat alongside him, laid a hand on the box in his lap. “It’s going to be okay,” he had said._

  _Patton didn’t know whether to believe him or not at the time._

 

Patton’s lips slowly upturned into a slight smile.

 He didn’t know if he believed Virgil then, but maybe he could believe it now. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe _he_ could finally be okay.

 And, as he finally let himself drift off into dreams, he realized he didn’t feel as alone anymore.


End file.
